


Sand of My Skin

by orphan_account



Series: Oasis Awaits Us [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Family Drama, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Past Rape/Non-con, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The water is gone, and to many, so are the gods. In a desert with nothing but sand and heat, and in minds without hope, the struggle begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

Arid.

Quiet.

Still.

Tense.

Lifeless.

The day their world ended, so too, did the rains, and so too, did their gift from the gods.

The world was dry, listless, and the tensions grew more by the day. Oh, so many days. The first week had been the one of confusion, but general acceptance; while no payments had been made throughout the city of Iwatobi, very few citizens had any questions. The gods had granted them more than enough for free, and it would last, even through the taxes.

...and then the taxes had increased by the end of the first month, despite the fact of there being no output whatsoever from the palace. Not a drop.

And then another month passed, and by then city was engorged with immigrants. Samezukites. Dozens upon dozens, hundreds of people flooding the city, demanding water. Demanding answers.

Their numbers grew larger by the day. Their voices cried louder by the minute. Their thirst deepened by the second.

They would not be sated.

Their numbers would begin falling soon.

Thank the gods for that one, beautiful day of endless rain, because without it, the people would have begun dwindling far earlier than now.

. . . . . . .

She stared at herself, a horrid dread filling her as her gaze lowered to the corner of her vanity.

Her lips were cracked, eyes listless, skin pale, and her mind...

. . .

The taxes had essentially stopped coming. Of course they had; there was nothing to receive. There was nothing to give. Their 'perfect' system had broken.

The Spring had finally died.

The Princess' eyes stopped on that small dish...that small dish she always kept here in the vanity. The one for cleaning her brushes and swabs of her cosmetics. She stared at the water it held, murky and brown.

It was with no hesitation that she took the small dish up quietly into her palm and brought it to her lips, the thin liquid emptying out all too quickly. She convulsed, a soft retch sounding from her throat before she brought it down and covered her mouth with her hand.

No. No, no, stay down, stay down.

Oh it was _foul_. It was so foul and warm. She could feel bits of powder swishing between her teeth, grainy on her swollen tongue, and she shut her eyes tightly. It was with an unimaginable strength that she was able force it down her throat.

Kou gasped for air, shuddered breaths, frightened wheezes. She was frightened for herself, for how long she could last like this. If she drank another glass of wine, she knew that she'd be sick...wine was all they had now.

This cosmetic had been her first drink in days...and as disgusting as it had been, she felt guilt; she hadn't even thought to share it. She hadn't even thought of her husband, or her mother, or her-

. . .

She rose from her vanity, fighting tears and the awful feeling that was beginning to churn deep in her stomach, and left her chambers. Her husband awaited her...his warm embrace, his gentle voice. He would forgive her for this horrid thing she had done. He would understand how thirsty she had been, how utterly desperate a desire she'd had for even a sip of water she was...even if it had been putrid, stagnant...unclean.

He'd forgive her. He'd understand.

Their wedding had been a quiet affair. Tense, to say the very least. They had gotten to know each other for a good few weeks, despite all the happenings in the palace, and...Seijuurou Mikoshiba was a good man. A good, honest man...and he'd helped her so much in these trying times.

He'd gotten her through the Matsuoka family's turmoil.

She only wished the same could could be said for her brother...or rather, her brother Rin.

. . . . . . .

"..."

"Your Majesty?"

The man spoke quietly to his Sultan, looking up from his groveling. The ruler wasn't even looking to him, sitting improperly on his throne. His legs were dangling over one of the arms, his back against the other side, and in his hand was a scimitar, a dull blade that looked as if it had not been properly cared for.

...it looked so familiar.

Before the man could speak again, the Sultan's gaze turned sharply toward him, eyes cold.

"I heard you the first time, Tachibana. Don't assume that I didn't."

"Forgive me, your Majesty..."

The redhead sighed heavily, as if he were dreadfully bored.

"Your payment will be fulfilled at a later date. You may leave now."

Makoto swallowed dryly.

No. That couldn't be it.

"...forgive me for prying, your Majesty...and forgive me if it seems insolent...but...a-as you know, I have a family to take care of. Two younger siblings...one of them is ill, and-"

"There are many with families, Tachibana. It's not that I don't empathize, it's that we all have our own problems. Perhaps conserving The Giving properly would have boded well for you. Surely you have neighbors that you can beg from."

" _That was four months ago_ , it wouldn't have lasted!"

It had slipped out before he could filter it. Makoto spoke exactly what was on his mind and immediately was filled with fear. However, Sultan Matsuoka didn't react with anger or vehemence.

...rather, the Sultan merely sighed again, rising from his throne and stepping down to meet the shop keeper, leaving the scimitar behind. Makoto watched in total terror as Rin Matsuoka moved toward him to place his hands on his shoulders. His expression was hard to decipher, but if the brunette had to choose a word...it was 'dead.'

Utterly _lifeless_.

He looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, dark black circles under his blood-red eyes, as if his body was running on some sort of reserve energy that Makoto couldn't imagine being healthy. And then he saw the scars...dozens. _Dozens_ of them. Little ones, larger ones, all along his arms and hands...had he gotten into some sort of accident?

"...I am aware. Forgive me, but there truly is nothing that I can do. I understand that your family has provided mine with substantial effort and excellency for many years, but...unfortunately, the past won't assist the future today."

"...I understand..."

Makoto flinched as he was searched, just once, the Sultan's eyes looking him up and down again before he sighed and turning away, heading back to his throne.

"...Tachibana."

"Y-yes?"

"Is it your sister or your brother? That is ill, I mean."

"..."

He remembered? From back then? It had been so long ago, but it wasn't as if Makoto had forgotten, either. The day the Queen had struck a deal with his father. The day the Tachibana family's lives turned from poor merchants, struggling to get by, to wealthy servants of the Matsuoka Dynasty.

The day he'd seen a beautiful, smiling, red-haired girl, and a disgruntled, disgusted little boy...next in line for the throne.

"...my sister, your Majesty...she's eight."

"..."

Rin snapped his fingers, beckoning a guard and quietly mumbling something to him that Makoto couldn't hear. Whatever it was, the guard looked absolutely bewildered, but when the Sultan had growled " _Just fetch it_ ," he scurried off. He sighed once again, rubbing his temples.

...clearly, things were not well within the palace. If anything, they might be worse in here than out there. Makoto couldn't place it, but the air felt... _different_ here. The smell was wrong.

This place reeked of death...misery...

And then there was Haruka. He'd hoped to see his friend here today, but the wanderer was nowhere to be seen. He hadn't heard anything from him, not since the day of the fitting.

The shop keep's eyes nearly fell from their sockets when the guard returned, carrying in his hands a rather sizable bottle of wine, one that was handed to him without hesitation.

"It's not water, but in small amounts it shouldn't do that much damage to her...and as much as I hate to say it, it _does_ dull pain, if only for awhile...preserve it well."

"I...Sultan Matsuoka, this-"

"Take it and leave my sight. Don't thank me, don't tell me no. Take it and go. I have no use for it."

"But what of-?"

"Each second that you waste being humble is another second your sister goes thirsty. Leave...before I change my mind."

. . .

Makoto didn't know how he knew, but that threat had been completely empty. He bowed twice before leaving, nearly running from the throne room, clutching the precious wine to his chest.

Gods bless the Sultan.

Gods bless the Matsuoka family.

Gods bless his own family.

Raise them all from this Hell.

. . . . . . .

There were no gods; Rin had come to that conclusion about four months ago.

If there were gods, then they very clearly had a cruel idea of what humor was. Or maybe they were just angry. Furious at the world, or him. In either case, Rin woke up in the morning, Sultan of, what felt more and more with every passing day, Hell.

He felt absolutely nothing.

His nightmares had ceased.

So had his dreams.

Makoto Tachibana hadn't been the first to seek answers for why the water had stopped being delivered, and Rin knew he certainly wouldn't be the last. It was a cry that grew louder every day, louder, dryer. A cry that couldn't be answered with words or actions, or at least not positively.

He'd thought. He'd locked himself away and did thinking but think, hours upon hours of solitude, of silence, of contemplation, with no company but the sound of his own voice.

Had he not done enough? Was his heart too far blackened to ever be cleansed? His mind too tainted?

. . .

Rin Matsuoka licked his dry lips, a bit of a new habit he had formed, and departed from the throne room, his gait quick, destination clear. The Sultan would be in his study until dinner...reading. Always reading. Wondering which scroll he'd missed, in the years he'd resided in the small room. Which document he'd faltered over, just _which one_ of his father's meticulous records it was.

But night after night, he never found any. None but the basic, anyhow. Just the one that detailed the marriage to Kaya, and her induction into the Matsuoka Dynasty. The single scroll that even bothered mentioning her.

There was nothing beyond that, other than his own and his sister's birth.

No origin.

No history.

Nothing at all.

It was that fact, or rather, the very _lack_ of facts, that gave Rin any sort of hope in these times...because, perhaps, his mother was just unwell. Perhaps she had spent too much time in Samezuka, out in the sun and heat, and her mind had started to go...perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps _everything_ was wrong.

. . .

. . .

He stopped walking for a moment, staring blankly down the darkened hallway.

Hundreds of attempts to convince himself that everything was okay had done nothing. Because nothing was okay.

Every time he looked his mother in the eye, the lies he told himself shattered, and so would he.

...and...it had been so easy to try that time. He'd tried to make it all stop, the headaches, the searing hole in his chest, this damn heat, this longing that never ended, this _sin_. It had been _so easy_ to make that first slice with the scimitar ('how fitting,' he'd thought, to do with this blade what should have been done so long ago), and the next, and the next, and the next, and then... _he'd_ walked in.

He'd seen him.

The one who'd made him wish for this.

And his face had been so full of terror, so completely struck with horror and despair, and his voice had never been more ragged when he had cried, " _What are you doing_!?" and ran to him.

Rin then saw the light in the darkness he'd allowed himself to fall into and bawled...and he had held the Sultan.

He held him.

He had held him...knowing.

And he had raised him up from the bloodstained sheets, and helped him find what little reserves of water they'd had left, and then found the bandages and cotton and tended to him, the whole time shaking, telling him to "stay calm" and "breathe."

That had been the day after their world came crashing down.

His eyes never met Rin's. He remembered that moment the most vividly, above all the blood and care, the pain and beauty.

...he would never do anything like this again. Not after seeing that look...that fear he'd given to him. Rin was ashamed...he hardly felt his own physical pain, not when he was trying to sort out his own mental turmoil and why it had to be Haruka that found him...looking at his arms was a constant reminder.

The Sultan blinked, seeing a small pinprick of light coming from the open door of his chambers, and he headed further down the hall toward it. The study could wait for another hour. At the moment, his head hurt far too much to even consider reading or thinking. Rest seemed like better option.

. . .

It had been four months since he'd seen him, and it was because _that_ was what Rin desired most of all...or rather, that was the desire that he knew he could obtain, even if it was the exact opposite of what he truly wanted.

This was the desire that he could have without guilt.

The shame, however, sat upon his shoulders like a boulder that only grew more dense by the day.

. . . . . . .

She hummed a low tune happily, quietly as she ran her fingers through his hair. The smile on her face couldn't be compared, and her eyes were gentle.

This room was one of the cooler ones in the palace. Dark, quiet...her chair was soft, and her oldest son was seated below her on the floor, allowing her to feel him and say whatever was on her mind...it had become a bit of a routine now. She would find him and so cheerfully tell him to come along, and it was always here. Always some light form of contact. She'd lost him once before, and the gods had simply...returned him. Safe. Healthy. Absolutely breathtaking. She sighed, laughing brightly.

"Your hair is just as thick as your father's, you know. Full and dark."

"Yes, Mother."

"I used to play with it for hours...you had taken a bit of liking to it yourself, when he held you. You had such a strong grip. Oh, when he comes back, you should stand beside him! That way I can truly see just how similar you both are. You might just be taller than him, now."

"...yes, Mother."

"I don't joke when I say that you look just as he did in his youth. So strong and handsome..you are _so_ handsome, dear. We'll find you a bride in no time at all, and then perhaps you and your brother can be married alongside of one another! My beautiful boys...my beautiful boys..."

"..."

. . . . . . .

She laughed again, ruffling his hair and kissing the top of his head, and her hums became syllables, lovingly singing a tune that Haruka faintly recognized. He might have recognized it better if it weren't being sung in 'la's and 'oo's.

...she had been well once, but Haruka now knew that she was gone.

He'd found a mother, only to lose her completely.

This woman that was coddling him and petting him and telling him all of these stories that he'd never heard before, never understood that the young man that she called her son...this woman was his mother, and he was hardly affected by her.

Haruka had longed for a family, but at the same time, he'd never truly known what a family entailed. People to care for, and to care for him, someone to greet him in the mornings and evenings after a hard day's work...just... _someone_. Someone he wouldn't feel like a burden toward, like Makoto. Makoto was kind, generous nearly to a fault, and one of the best people Haruka had ever met...but if he had stayed with the Tachibana family, he would have only been a burden.

Here...in the Matsuoka family...

...this was where he 'belonged.'

And despite the selfless love he received from his birth mother, he wanted out. He wanted away from her. So far away.

She was _gone_. That was the only way to put it; any and all negativity about Rin, about Haruka, about anything, was ignored. Put aside in her mind. Kaya Matsuoka had either broken down so much that she truly had shut out any indications of her two sons and their...relationship, or she had convinced herself that everything was fine.

It was probably for the best that way. One ray of sun in an otherwise ongoing storm was somewhat refreshing. That, and the family feared for what would become of her if she ever knew or remembered just how Haruka had been introduced...

She was happy, whereas Haruka was in misery, but he didn't let it show around her. Or anyone.

. . .

If there were water, his chambers would be the washroom. Not too long ago, that wondrous room was a place where he could melt away into nothing...forget his troubles for an hour, maybe two...feel the way the heat turned cold, and made his fingers prune...

...he'd wasted so much. Just thinking about all the baths he'd taken, how much of it he'd dirtied...in such a short amount of time, the most precious material on earth had been used as if it were plentiful, treated as commonly as sand.

And now they were being punished for it.

. . .

Or it might have been for something else, something from some higher power that was furious, but...but that would be so unfair.

How? How could they have _possibly_ known?

It had been four months. Four months since the end of The Spring. Four months since the end of their happiness.

Four months since he'd nearly lost Rin.

Despite the warm, loving touch he could feel combing through his hair, Haruka felt a cold shard spike through his chest. The memory alone was enough to make him feel ill...he still didn't know what had possessed him to go looking for the Sultan, even though he'd been told, no, _ordered_ to stay away from him.

There had been so much blood...and Rin had been in his bed, so Haruka really had no idea how much of it there had actually been. The blood had spilled onto crimson sheets, so...so dark and stained and horrid and-

. . .

-and he still cared for him.

Months had passed, and his feelings for Rin hadn't so much as diluted.

. . .

They were in a dark place.

Time had allowed Haruka to realize that whatever their entire experience had been...it had never been love. Hate had turned to respect. Respect had turned to friendship. Friendship turned to curiosity...curiosity to an intense infatuation, and infatuation to purely primal desires.

. . .

That wasn't love.

But seeing Rin so broken had struck a cord in the wanderer. Was _that_ love? It couldn't be, not now, _especially_ not now.

He cared for Rin. He cherished him. He was concerned for him...scared for him...scared for himself...scared for them.

. . .

"Haruka? Darling, you haven't said so much as a word to me. Tell me what's on your mind. Or...no, we can just wait for your father, and then we'll all talk together, you, me, Father, Rin, and Kou. Oh, Gen will be so happy when he sees that you're alive and well...I don't know what's taking him so long."

"...neither do I, Mother."

. . .

Another day.

Forbidden to leave this Hell.

Forbidden to see the one he needed to see the most.

Forbidden to speak of things that truly, desperately needed to be spoken of.

Forbidden to mention a crisis that needed resolve rather than avoidance.

And just like in the beginning of it all, Haruka Nanase was thirsty.

So, _so_ thirsty.


	2. The Crumbling

He moved like water, arms fluid, hips and stomach rolling like the seas of legend. The twanging guitar guided him, sharp in his ear, close and oddly comforting as his feet stepped and turned, shifting the sand about.

' _Just follow my rhythm, and everything will be alright_.'

His toe dipped down into a small groove in the sand, and he turned on it, arms raised above him for his own balance as well as to showcase an impressive new move.

' _Feel the ridges_. _This way_ , _you won't stray too far from me_ , _nor too close to them_.'

Twisting, swaying, spinning, his body light as air, his mind heavy, staying in his box, and all with a smile brighter than the sun, Nagisa Hazuki danced to the rhythm of a guitar, a guitar that played silence to its owner and yet glorious music for all those who listened, and finally, he stopped. It was a perfect freeze, his hands together, clapping twice in quick succession before he was greeted by a small but enthusiastic bout of applause. He had to guess it was somewhere around...eight people. Maybe nine.

The next sound, however, the sound of clinking coins, was _far_ more rewarding.

"Thank you, thank you, it's been a pleasure entertaining you!"

Nagisa bowed to the crowd as Rei spoke, his voice prim and proper, sounding absolutely perfect.

Two knocks on their home's stone wall signaled Nagisa to give his final bow, giving a cheerful, " _Have a good day_!" before turning his back to the crowd. In that same instant, his smile dropped, and in its place was an expression that was far too tired for someone who was only sixteen years old.

His hand slid along their table, following its edge as he turned right, stepped into the adjacent room, a room with only a cot, and he threw himself upon it with a groan. He squirmed, his bare belly brushing against some stray pieces of straw that were poking from up through their sheets, and he readjusted quickly.

Dancing never seemed so burdensome until his very existence relied upon it. If he'd refused the Sultan his 'entertainment,' well, it was just a few minutes of shouting before he'd be sent back to the den...he'd still have his own stock-hold of water. Of course, Nagisa had given in and danced eventually. He'd loved dancing before his time with the Sultan, after all. He knew how.

It was all a matter of who was watching and why.

Another knock came from the entrance of the room, this one very gentle as the words "How is it today?" floated politely through the air. Nagisa sat up, stretching his legs out along the cot with a small smile, and shook his head. A new weight joined him, a presence at the end of the bed.

"My knees are better, but my feet could certainly use a day to themselves."

Nagisa only slightly flinched when Rei's hand touched his foot, and that was mostly due to pain, rather than surprise. He wasn't surprised by Rei's touch, not anymore. He welcomed it, even if nine times out of ten he sought Nagisa's permission before doing so. Clearly, this time was of the tenth.

"Then they shall have a day to themselves."

Rei sounded so firm in his statement that Nagisa honestly hesitated, wanting to agree wholeheartedly, but he frowned, shaking his head again.

"We can't do that, Rei."

"One day won't-"

" _Rei_."

Nagisa flexed his toes, and Rei fell silent. All was silent, save for the streets of Samezuka outside. It was far too quiet; four months ago, the city would be teeming with energy, people, bustling with music and life. But now...

. . .

He felt both of Rei's hands tenderly grip his foot, and he couldn't keep himself from letting out a tiny whimper of pain as he delicately started to massage it, his thumbs working deep circles at his sole.

"Is this too much?"

"...n-no, it's fine..."

It hurt, but it would help. It would give some relief. Nagisa breathed, knowing he was being watched.

There had been a time when Rei Ryugazaki had been forbidden to look upon Nagisa. Forbidden to acknowledge his existence as an individual, as a human being with hopes and dreams for a better world.

And now, Nagisa knew that Rei's eyes were on him. They were always on him now, filled with compassion and hope and love...he didn't need to see them to know Rei's feelings were there. He could feel it in his touch, his kiss, his arms as they held him during the night. His voice...

The feeling of pins and needles numbed, and Nagisa sighed, body relaxing as he smiled. When he spoke, he spoke slowly, sounding himself out.

"How much was it today?"

"About ten in silver, and one in gold." 

"A _gold_ piece? Someone gave us a _gold piece_?!"

"Hard to believe, is it not? You deserve every gold piece, you know. You move so beautifully."

Rei laughed quietly, and Nagisa couldn't help but laugh along, just a little louder...just in case. He said nothing about Rei's perfect melody from before, how enchanting it had sounded, and simply jumped to the end.

"So...what's left?"

"...sixty more or so."

Rei's hesitant answer made Nagisa groan, falling back to stare at the ceiling.

"My feet will fall _off_ before then! What if we just take away our supper time? Two meals a day is more than enough to save— "

"I can't see you..."

Rei's quiet response made Nagisa sit up immediately, looking to Rei and repeating himself up to '—before then,' seeing as the rest really wasn't that good of an idea anyhow.

He would have a slip like this only occasionally, but each and every time he did felt like a grave disaster, even though Rei never seemed terribly bothered by it. He would always just interrupt Nagisa with a polite of "I can't see you" before Nagisa would remember and face him again.

Rei needed to be able to read his lips.

"They won't fall off at all, Nagisa...they'll certainly be sore, though, if you don't take a break."

"Taking breaks means wasting our time."

He could feel Rei's gaze on him as Nagisa's other foot began to receive attention, new pinpricks of pain causing him to bite his lip to keep quiet.

"Taking breaks means keeping your health...what will I do with you if you injure yourself?"

"Won't you carry me then, Rei?"

Nagisa grinned, and his mind painted the most glorious image. First, he imagined Rei. Perfect, handsome Rei, with his bronzed skin and strong features. His beautifully dark hair and lovely violet eyes, his soft lips and sharp nose...he imagined his perfect Rei, and how he might look now while massaging Nagisa's foot, listening to his words. He hoped behind hope that Rei was first put off by his suggestion, perhaps even rolling his eyes from the sheer silliness of it, before eventually smiling that warm, loving smile he'd seen before. Rei's smile, that Nagisa had been so blessedly graced with before The Giving.

When he heard the quiet, tired laughter as a response, Nagisa knew that his sight held more clarity in the darkness than he'd ever thought possible.

. . . . . . .

The stone felt cool under his bare feet, his steps achingly slow, rolling little by little. The heel, the sole, the ball, the tips of his toes...he used to do this a child, to see how quiet he could be when moving down the hall. He could avoid the _scuff scuff scuff_ he'd receive from wearing his sandals or slippers.

Rin Matsuoka did it now for...well, he wasn't quite sure why. At his age, the sight was more than a little ridiculous. He breathed each time he took a new step.

Step, roll, step, roll, step—

. . .

...where was he headed?

Rin stopped in the corridor, surrounded by flickering torchlight. He heard a distant sound, and he recognized it immediately as his mother...her voice, carrying through the palace. She was singing, and he knew the tune well. Her lullaby.

He wasn't moving, just standing, staring blankly ahead into darkness as the singing seemed to grow louder and louder, a pulsating ring that ricocheted inside his head. Her voice was akin to a blade to his throat, cutting him deep, a sea of blood spilling to this stone floor.

The hall echoed with his breath, sharp and quick, fear rising as he covered his ears, murmuring his pleas to the gods as his knees began to buckle beneath him.

"Do it. Do it. _Do it_. Just _do it_. Do it now. _Please_ , _now_."

He collapsed, voice hitching as it began to break. The singing, beautiful and soft, rang and shook him to his core, and he was shaking.

" _End me_ , that's what you want, is it not? I will—oh gods, please, I—...just end it, do it now...just please, I beg you, do not let him—"

"Good night, my child. I love you."

He froze, panic breaking as the singing ceased, and relief flooded his being. Rin looked up from the stone, all but peeling his hands from his ears as he saw her. _Her_ , stepping out from a door, and closing it. Even in the dimness, he could see her smile...she was always smiling now. So happy. So light.

Rin envied her.

He watched her vanish down the dark hall before attempting to stand, his legs weak as he pushed himself up with his hands. His eyes were nowhere but the door his mother had emerged from, and without realizing, he was moving toward it.

...raising a hand to knock upon it...

...stopping himself before he could make any sound.

. . .

He opened his palm and touched the woodwork, tracing the carving quietly, losing himself in his old thoughts.

. . . . . . .

" _When we are wed_ , _I will have dolphins carved alongside my sharks_ , _Haru_ , _and they will be_ glorious."

" _But the sharks ate the dolphins if they were not quick enough_."

" _Those are minuscule details_. _You favor the dolphins_ , _do you not_?"

"... _I suppose_."

" _Then our chambers shall be adorned with them_! _Sharks and dolphins_ , _side by side_!"

" _It defies legend_."

"Haru."

Rin had sounded so offended and yet so amused, only halfway done with his first glass of wine before he'd slung his arm around Haruka's shoulder. It was a friendly gesture...annoying, but friendly, and Haruka hadn't objected to it at the time.

" _Haru_. _Did you know there are two types of legends_? _There are two_ , _the first of which being such legends as the sharks and the dolphins_ , _the whales and seas_ , _none of those were ever real_. _I've told you_ , _they were tales created to give the human mind something to achieve with_ , _something to believe in_... _something outside of all the sand_. _Ideas to give people who are unhappy with their status or life meaning_..."

"... _and the second_?"

Rin had grinned so genuinely and taken his hand, his eyes shining with adoration as they swept over Haruka.

" _Those are the dreams that come true_."

. . .

Haruka Nanase stared up at the ceiling, wondering why he suddenly remembered that night now. That night...the night their lives had gone to hell. Their new lives, with warmth and security and happiness.

...Haruka had been happy. He had. He'd felt _happy_ with Rin...comfortable, to say the least. He'd enjoyed his time with him, talking and learning and confiding...

. . .

He missed him.

They lived in the very same palace, walked the very same floors, but at different times. Different planes. Haruka hadn't seen him in four months, not since...well, he'd much prefer to think of Rin as the giggling drunk he had once been, the shy, caring young man than...what he had become now.

...he could get up. He could rise from his bed right this very moment, leave his chambers, and knock on his door. He wanted to see him. To hear his voice. He needed to know if he was well. Had his arms healed? Had they scarred?

They needed to speak again.

Haruka threw his covers aside and rose, standing up straight as he stepped quickly and quietly toward his door, and the moment his hand touched the handle, he froze...

...grip tightening...

...before coming off the cool iron altogether.

He stared at the door, eyes blank, fatigued. His mother had just left, after singing her lullaby. The same lullaby Rin had slurred that night...ah, _that_ must have been what triggered his memory. Haruka had nearly allowed it slip away...damn the gods for denying him one fragment of ignorant bliss.

His hand stroked the door, and he looked back toward his bed, thinly hidden away by the red veil surrounding it. He thought of the way those curtains had parted, fallen back into place as the bed's occupants made themselves comfortable...the way he'd been touched so delicately, like shattered glass. The way he'd touched Rin, and the way they'd breathed life into each other, the way they'd—

. . .

Haruka was backing away from the door, and within a few short moments he was back under the covers, his mind tearing itself to shreds while his body shivered from a cold he'd been forced to grow used to over the course of four long months.


End file.
